


Dance Positions

by tartanfics



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Characters having confusing relationships, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Episode Tag, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene, Weddings, spoilers for The Sign of Three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanfics/pseuds/tartanfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How's your waltz, John?" Mary asks.</p>
<p>[Spoilers for The Sign of Three.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Positions

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Miss_sabre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_sabre).

"How's your waltz, John?" Mary asks.

John looks at her over the top of the newspaper he's reading to avoid getting consulted on wedding plans. He presses a grin down to a smirk and says, "Not as good as my polka."

Sherlock's head snaps up so fast it looks like someone has pulled his puppet strings. He leans past Mary, putting his weight on the back of her chair but leaving his legs in his own on the other side of the table. "You know how to dance the polka?"

John looks back at Mary, who is leaning forward into the table to avoid being smothered by Sherlock. She raises an eyebrow--or at least, it looks like she does. Her head's at a funny angle. 

"No, I don't know how to dance the polka," John says. 

Sherlock thumps back into his chair and frowns. Is he... disappointed? "Meaning you don't know how to waltz, either."

"No. I can just spin her in circles a bit, give her a kiss at the end." He grins. 

Sherlock and Mary exchange looks, and John has the feeling of trepidation he gets before being ordered to do something silly for a case. Apparently also applies to imminent dancing lessons. Who knew.

"Sherlock?" Mary asks. John can't see her face from here. "I don't know how to lead, and I've got to run this over to the florist anyway."

John can just see Sherlock's face if he leans to look around the back of Mary's head. They seem to be having a staring contest. John is obviously going to get no input on this whatsoever. He’s learning to waltz today whether he likes it or not.

"Fine," Sherlock says eventually. "Fine, go see your florist. Goodbye." He waves a hand at her dismissively. 

Mary pauses, and John can tell she’s grinning at Sherlock just by looking at the back of her head. She gets up and gives John a kiss, and then she’s out the door and John is left looking at Sherlock over the top of his newspaper, wary.

Sherlock stares into the distance in silence for a while. Long enough that John is lulled into a sense of security and goes back to actually reading the paper--which is then summarily ripped out of his hands and tossed across the room. “Sherlock!” John barks, as he is manhandled out of his chair and stood in the centre of the room.

“Waltz, John!” Sherlock says, spinning back across the room and plugging his phone into its speakers. “You’re going to waltz at your wedding. It’s tradition.” He scoffs, but John gets the sense that Sherlock does actually _want_ John to learn to waltz.

“I didn’t know you could waltz,” John says, crossing his arms and watching Sherlock choose music.

“Of course I can waltz.”

“Learned for a case?”

“Undercover investigation, competitive ballroom dance. Had to learn.” Sherlock’s not looking at John as he says this.

“Right. Didn’t delete it?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer.

“No, of course, how stupid of me. Of course you liked ballroom dance. Show-off.”

Sherlock looks over his shoulder and grins. He presses play on the music.

Sherlock stops in the middle of the room, hands on hips, surveying his dance floor. Then he brushes past John and shoves his armchair back. “Not ideal,” he says, standing by the chair and surveying the room from the new angle. “It’ll do.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” John says, watching Sherlock look twitchily around the room. “I could find a class.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll teach you. I want to teach you.”

John is afraid to touch this, and it seems best just to go along with it. Sherlock’s stubborn determination to help plan the wedding--far beyond any normal wedding planning and into the realm of seating arrangement micromanagement--is startling, but it’s nice. In a way. Almost sweet. Nerve-wracking but sweet. John isn’t sure if this is Sherlock apologising (again) or Sherlock’s nerves or his heartbreaking surprise over John’s choice of best man.

“Okay. What do I do?”

At which point John abruptly has his arms full of Sherlock. He’s seen enough dance movies (brief phase in Harry’s childhood) that he can recognise that his hands are in the lead’s position, one on Sherlock’s shoulder blade and the other holding Sherlock’s comically larger hand. Sherlock’s other hand is on John’s shoulder. The measured, precise contact feels strange. Most of the time when they touch each other it’s a full body shoved-out-of-the-path-of-bullets sort of thing, or Sherlock’s absent manhandling, or John clapping Sherlock cheerfully on the shoulder. This is different. “With Mary, of course, you wouldn’t have to reach quite so high to place your hand on her shoulder blade,” Sherlock says.

“Yeah, all right, I know I’m short.” 

Sherlock ignores this response. “The waltz is danced in three-four time,” he says gravely, looking down at John’s face. John’s hands are beginning to feel sweaty.

“I suppose I should know what that means. I did play the clarinet.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Yes, so you’ve said. It means that we dance to a count of three. _One_ , two, three. _One_ , two, three.”

“Sherlock,” John says, interrupting Sherlock’s count. He digs his fingers into Sherlock’s back, cupping Sherlock’s shoulder blade. “Thank you.”

“What? Oh, yes, fine. You’re welcome.” He smiles a brief, fake smile, and then looks down at their feet. “Now.”

-

The last time they dance together is two days before the wedding, when Sherlock announces that John needs one last tutoring session and shoves Mary out the door. She goes, laughing and joking about how apparently the bride not seeing the groom waltz before the wedding is the equivalent of the groom not seeing the wedding dress.

Sherlock turns on the music, shoves the armchairs out of the way, and bows formally to John.

“Shouldn’t you be curtsying?” John asks. He neglects an answering bow and puts his hand on Sherlock’s waist.

“I’m your follow, John. I’m not a woman.”

“All right, fine. Shall we?” 

Sherlock settles his hand on John’s shoulder and tilts his head, smiling faintly. John begins counting in his head. He takes the first step. 

“You like this, don’t you?” John asks, after he’s fallen into the rhythm enough to stop focusing so hard on the count. “Not just because you’re a show-off.”

Sherlock is silent. Being much taller than your dance partner must be convenient for avoiding looking at them. “Yes,” Sherlock says eventually, voice rather stiff. “I like it.”

“You didn’t really learn to dance just for a case.” John knows he was a bit slow on this deduction, but at least he got there eventually.

“No.” Sherlock smiles faintly. “Well done, John. You only took three weeks longer than your fiancée to figure that out.”

“Sod off,” John says, grinning. He can tell he’s making a stupid happy face. Doesn’t care, much. John turns them, once past the table, the door, towards his armchair. He’s got the hang of it now, shouldn’t step on Mary’s feet at all. (Only stepped on Sherlock’s because Sherlock deserved it.)

“Sherlock,” John says softly, as they turn slowly past the table again. “I want to say this. And you can’t disappear on me this time, it’s rude to walk out on your dance partner.” John breathes deep, looking at the point of Sherlock’s collar. He makes himself meet Sherlock’s eyes. “It won’t change anything. I’ll still--I’ll be here, all right?”

“Of course it will, John, don’t be naive.” Sherlock blinks slowly. It reminds John of Sherlock’s reaction to being asked to be his best man. “You will dance with Mary. At your wedding _to_ Mary.”

“You like Mary.” John’s feet stop moving, shuffle into anxious stillness. He doesn’t let go of Sherlock.

“Yes, I like Mary. I like you. I’m your best man, apparently.” The sharp note on “best man” sounds faked. John knows how Sherlock feels about that, really.

“Come on, we’ll have a dance,” John says. He squeezes Sherlock’s hand. “We can dance at the wedding if you want to.”

“If _I_ want to,” Sherlock echoes.

“ _I_ want to. But it’s up to you.”

“Yes. Thank you. I would be… amenable to that.” 

There it is--pompous in the face of emotion. 

“Hey, Sherlock…” John bends in the face of that particular tide. He slips his hand up and hooks it around Sherlock’s shoulder, drops Sherlock’s hand and steps in. Hugging Sherlock is always awkward--graceful in dancing or crime-solving acrobatics, Sherlock becomes awkward in hugs. John finds his face convenient to the side of Sherlock’s neck and puts his lips there, automatic and without intention.

“John…”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“Don’t pity me,” Sherlock says sharply, beginning to pull away. John tightens his arms.

“Don’t be a tit, I’m not.” The music is still playing, which is enough to mask their conversation and make it possible to pretend they aren’t having it. “Thank you for being my best man. I’m sorry that’s usually considered a secondary position, at weddings.”

Sherlock starts muttering something about convention and tradition, which he doesn’t believe in. John huffs into his neck and squeezes him a little tighter. 

John will dance with Sherlock at the wedding. Maybe not on the dance floor, maybe after most of the guests have gone home. Last, but never least.


End file.
